Five Years After
by Conny1908
Summary: Harry has been taking care of Draco since the day Draco was punished for a crime he didn't commit. — They say it is a fate worse than death. – Inspired by Maya's “Dark Side of Light”. – HP–DM. Post–Hogwarts.
1. Five Years After

**A/N:** Inspired by Maya's "Dark Side of Light". One day, I shall follow through with my continued threats and write a fic that picks up where she left off. However, until that day comes, this collection of drabbles will have to suffice.

**Disclaimer:** I have no intention of infringing upon any copyrights in connection with the Harry Potter Franchise. Should you recognize any of JKR's characters in my writing, please be kind. I am just playing with them for my own – and hopefully others' – entertainment.

**Warning:** Implied slash.

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Five Years After**

The Muggle doctor asks him all sorts of questions.

Some are understandable: _Can he dress himself? Brush his teeth? Shave? _No. No. No. – Some require a longer answer and demonstration: _Does he eat on his own?_ – Yes and no. You have to guide his hands through the first couple of bites to make sure he understands what he's supposed to do, and then you have to stay with him and watch to make sure he eats enough. – Some are amusing: _Does he wear diapers? _No. – A frown follows that one and he doesn't understand. He takes him for a long walk after their evening meal, they take a shower afterwards, and then he sits him on the toilet half an hour later. His digestion works like clockwork, day after day. – _Does he need to be wiped? _– Of course, but there isn't that much to wipe if you're on the proper diet. Necessity has made him an expert dietician. He can't remember the last time there's been a disgusting or embarrassing moment. – The next one is confusing until she explains to him that some of the male patients have to be bathed by male nurses because of their physical reactions. He swallows and negates the existence of sexual reflexes.

The doctor concludes her examination and finishes her notes.

"Well, your charge seems in excellent condition, Mr. Potter. Don't worry, we'll take good care of him while you're on vacation." She gives him a warm professional smile. "Let's take him to his room, shall we?"

The room is light and pleasant and contains only a minimum of furniture.

Harry approves and turns to leave although he finds it difficult. They've never been apart in five years. But it is only for a week and the private clinic comes highly recommended.

He doesn't dare kiss him good-bye in front of the doctor.

They call him in Bath two days later.

He is back at the clinic within hours.

"We've done everything we could, but we can't get him to eat." The doctor sounds apologetic and truly worried. He appreciates her concern and the fact that she has called him rather than revert to a procedure called force-feeding, although he has signed the necessary paperwork.

The room is still light and pleasant.

Harry pulls up a chair and sits down next to the unmoving figure. He picks up the hand on the table to wrap its slender fingers around a spoon.

"It's all right, Draco," he tells him quietly, "I'm here."

The spoon begins to move.

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**P.S.:** Rouchen Lu, a.k.a. Emerald, a very sweet person, has translated "Five Years After" into Chinese. If you or someone you know would like to read it, send me a message and I'll e-mail you the .pdf file. 

Thank you, Emerald!


	2. Destination, Determination, Deliberation

**A/N:** This is another drabble in the "Five Years After" universe. For ravengirl76.

**Thank you, **dreamerdoll, excessivelyperky, FireHeart72, and TenshiSakuraTakai for your reviews!

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**Destination, Determination, and Deliberation**

He knows he shouldn't. It's a horrible thing to do to another human being, and he despises himself for even considering it, but the doctor's questions have stirred something in him, something that hasn't made itself known _this _urgently in a long time.

He remembers a day, years ago… Reaching through the iron bars of a cell in Azkaban. The rank smell of despair and decay. The feel of Draco's skin, clammy and cold everywhere but _there. _He remembers the sound of Draco's breath, harsh, panting, and how it felt on his lips, against his cheek, and suddenly he cannot bear even the _thought _of another moment without the touch of a human being.

He knows it's wrong, but he needs it so, and nobody will ever know about it, and Draco will be all right at home by himself for an hour if he locks him in his room with the telly on, with the tape he has recorded for him, the one where he is telling him about the past five years. It will be more than long enough for his purpose.

He guides Draco across the small room and helps him into his armchair. The cat is not pleased to be picked up. She likes to take an extended nap in Draco's lap every afternoon, but she will probably want out the moment he has left the house, and Harry does not dare leave the door to Draco's room open. He knows he wouldn't have a moment of peace wondering about things at home while he is out doing…

The cat gives him a dirty look when he dumps her in the hall.

He locks the room behind him.

Quickly now, before he can change his mind.

The vials rest on green velvet in the warded medicine chest. It held twelve once. Now there are seven. He tries to tell himself that one per year is all right. His conscience disagrees, but it does not stand a chance against the combined persuasive power of brain and body.

He drapes his invisibility cloak from his shoulders before he strengthens the wards around the house with a flick of his wand.

"Apparate."


	3. Guilty Pleasures

**For ravengirl76.**

**A/N:** Thank you for your feedback, natana. I'm sure Harry will do whatever he can to save Draco. He can't help it, I suppose:)

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**Guilty Pleasures**

The place appeals to him because, unlike other establishments he's used, this one has a vaguely homey feel to it and is kept meticulously clean by an owner who treats her employees almost like a mother.

Or maybe it's because her round face, framed by greying curls, with its rosy cheeks and friendly eyes, reminds him a little of Mrs. Weasley. She calls him "dearie" or "love" and offers him a cup of tea and biscuits before they talk business.

Not that there is much to talk about.

"Thank you, love," she says after she has counted the notes he has just handed her. "I'll show you up."

He follows her into a pleasant room with a fireplace and big windows that overlook a little garden. It is the largest chamber in the house and also the most expensive one. The first time he thought he chose it because he felt guilty. This time he thinks he chose it because it reminds him of Draco's room in his home. _Their _home.

The air tastes of lilacs in spring, roses in summer...

"Five minutes," he says, breathing the smell of autumn, of rich, dark humus, wet treebark, and rotting leaves.

"Of course, dearie," she replies and hands him the key.

He muses over the gesture, which appears rather pointless in this house, while he Incendio's the wood in the fireplace and stares into the flames until he hears a soft knock on the door.

She is a squib, like most of the girls here. The others are Muggle-born witches who have never received any magical education and have ended up in Madam Adeline's establishment for reasons he can very well imagine but doesn't like to dwell upon.

He smiles at the girl and asks for her name, and she tells him "Violet" in a voice that is surprisingly deep for a woman. She is also tall for a woman, the tip of her nose almost level with his.

Shrugging off her robe, she reveals a close-fitting shift made of a shimmering material that clings to her small breasts and narrow hips. Harry is glad to see this. Her rather boyish figure will make things less… strenuous for her.

"And who are you?"

She looks him over with dark brown eyes – like his own are, thanks to coloured contact lenses.

"I'm Harry."

"How do you do, Harry?"

He nods.

Feels the strain in his smile.

The vial with the potion is burning in his trouser pocket.

_Imperio._

He whispers it against her mind, suggesting rather than commanding. It is a skill he has discovered by accident, on one of those occasions when his editor was taking his time while he was impatient to return home to Draco. He isn't proud of it and he rarely uses it, but when he does it here, it lessens the guilt a little.

Her face takes on a dreamy expression.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promises and hands her the vial. "Drink."

He hasn't got much time, but he helps her through the transformation as best he can and takes a few minutes afterwards to make sure she is relaxed and comfortable before he enters her, breathing gentle kisses across the soft skin between her shoulderblades.

"Harry." It's not exactly the same voice, but it is close enough.

It makes him shiver.

"Draco," he sighs and withdraws so that he can push back into the warmth and comfort of the pliable body underneath him.

He wants to take it slow, draw out the pleasure, so as to better remember how it feels like to be inside another person again, later, when he is back home. But part of him is worried about Draco being all by himself and another part simply wants release, and the two combined drive him on with breathtaking speed.

"Draco," he pants into the other's neck, "God, Draco."

A moan answers him. To reach down and around is almost a reflex. To find the other hard and wet is more than he expected.

"Touch yourself," he groans before he lets go of thinking and there is only gasping and moving and – finally – coming to the pulses of the other's climax.

If there is anything positive about using this particular spell in this place, it is that he doesn't have to get up and leave the moment he is done. He can put his arm around the warm body next to him and rest without feeling awkward or self-conscious, pretend for a little while, dream that this is how things would be.

"Tell me about yourself," he says and listens to the rising and falling of the voice he hasn't heard in over a year until the potion wears off.

When it's time to get dressed, it seems to him that his clothes feel different on his skin. Or maybe it's his skin that feels different.

The girl watches him, stretching languidly on the crumpled sheets, and he admits to himself that he likes the way she is looking at him. It's been a long time since anybody has looked at him appreciatively.

She slips out of bed when he retrieves his travelling cloak from the wardrobe.

"You're sweet," she says, arranging the heavy folds around his shoulders. "Come visit me again some time."

He nods and gently releases her mind.

His fingers close around his wand in its strap inside his cloak.

"Good-bye, Violet" he says as he opens the door. His smile feels less strained.

_Obliviate._


End file.
